Recall

The promenade on DS9 was something to be experienced rather than told stories about. When she knew it had been her destination for the rendezvous with the Elysium, Leah's former crewmates had been quick to share stories about their time in Quarks, or visiting a particular tailor's shop. The station itself was talked about in awe by cadets at the academy, given it's importance historically as well as politically. In Leah's mind, however, she knew that words couldn't quite do it justice. All the senses had to be permitted to take it in - the sights, sounds and smells.

The sounds of vendors chatting to potential customers made her smile; in all the cultures in the galaxy, bartering and trade was so familiar. It rarely seemed to differ between different species; you gave something in exchange for something else.

"Starfleet's finest! Interested in a Jumba stick?" one of the tradesmen tried to make eye contact with her. Smiling apologetically she shook her head. His shopfront held an array of different sweets and foodstuffs, many of them looking and smelling delicious. A small cake tied with a yellow ribbon caught her attention, the smell instantly reaching her nostrils.

And in that moment Leah was elsewhere. A long time ago.

The USS Archer. Adrift. Lost. Alone.

Crewman Blake had brought her a care package from the disaster refuge hastily cobbled-together on Deck 16. Barely thirty officers crammed together in an old deflector control room. He'd wrapped the small piece of Ensign Fuller's birthday cake in a yellow ribbon, as though it made the offering special in the midst of utter desperation and the grief of losing so many cherished colleagues.

"She wanted you to have the last piece," Fuller had explained. "Since you missed her party."

A party that had consisted of emergency rations and a third of a sponge cake between the rest of the survivors. Leah had been sat in the same seat in Environmental control for 29 hours. She'd forgotten that Fuller had just turned 24 while she was sat there.

"Lieutenant?"

She was back on the promenade, snapping out of her moment of memory. The shopkeeper was staring at her expectantly, anticipating a sale.

"No. Thank you," she murmured, turning away from the stall. Strange how the scent of something triggered memories. Not all of them good.

Shaking off the nostalgia, she pressed on to meet up with her new crewmates.